


The Family Legacy

by A_Cola_Product (lesbianbatgirl)



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: Batdad John Blake, Batfamily Feels, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Post-Canon Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-16 19:32:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5838148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianbatgirl/pseuds/A_Cola_Product
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unable to turn down a kid in desperate need of a home,  John Blake takes in a newly-orphaned Dick Grayson. It's the start of the time-honored bat-tradition of adopting every violently orphaned child in sight.<br/>John’s night-life as Batman complicates things and puts his new-found (bat)family in danger, especially as new villains start to arise.</p>
<p>OR: In which John Blake becomes the Batdad, fights some bad guys, and struggles to figure out how best to live up the huge legacy left to him by Bruce.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. John

_“You’re not him.”_

_John can hardly breathe through the pain anymore. He coughs and sees blood splatter onto the floor. He lifts his head as much as he can to look his attacker in the eye._

_“Who are you, then? You’re better than a copycat, but you’re… you’re not_ him _!”_

_“I’m Batman,” John manages. Is he, though? Really?_

_“No, no, no. You’re not him. You’re barely better than others who dressed up.”_

_“I’m—”_

_John’s wrist breaks, twisted violently around until it’s practically backward. He gasps, but doesn’t have the energy or the ability to do much more than that at this point._

_“No, you’re not.”_

* * *

 

[ _@heresmsholly]: Is #NuBatman is a thing now?? cuz my cousin swore she saw him last night_

 

* * *

 

 

 _IS THE BAT BACK? Rumors of Gotham’s dark knight making a reappearance seem to become more common these days, with crime rates dropping noticeably as well as many reports being sent in of a new Batman. The first Batman was reported to have died during Bane’s takeover of Gotham two years ago. While GCPD and Commissioner Gordon have refused to comment, a video has surfaced seemingly confirming the rumors.  Still open for debate is whether this figure is_ the _Batman or another copycat vigilante. (see page five for more)_

 

* * *

 

 

John never asked to be Batman.

Sometimes he forgets this fact, when he’s had a particularly long night (like tonight) and is busy berating himself for deciding to take up the gig.

He hadn't asked, but he'd accepted Bruce's mantle nonetheless. Mostly because there was no one else but him to do it, but he hadn’t asked. And stumbling into that cave after following Bruce’s directions, he’d been overwhelmed and uncertain as hell, because at the end of the day, he _wasn’t_ Bruce. It took time to get used to the cape and cowl and learn to live with it. Trying to be Bruce never worked, even when he tried, and he found his own way, slowly, stumblingly. Time passes and a year later…

A year later, John’s whole body hurts after going a round or two with Gotham’s finest mooks. But hey, bad guys get put away and the streets are cleaner than they would’ve been if John hadn’t been out there. Gordon’s told him that much.

He gets into the cave, groaning as he moves around the platform and between cabinets to pull out clean civilian clothes and medical supplies. There’s mostly just bruising this time around, thankfully. He wraps a bandage around his swelling ankle, then heads home, grudgingly. He’s slept in the cave before, and he knows it’s uncomfortable as hell, but the idea of avoiding driving home on sketchy streets in the early hours of the morning is at least a little appealing.

A few punks mill about, but his route is clear all the way back, flying across rooftops with a little less enthusiasm than usual. By the time he gets back to his apartment, it’s almost 3am. It’s an early night, all things considered, as tomorrow’s his day off. He sinks onto the bed without bothering to kick off his shoes.

After what feels like mere seconds, John wakes to a blaring phone.

“This is John,” he says groggily.

“John? It’s Father Reilly.”

John rubs the sleep out of his eyes, glancing at the clock. 5am. Dammit. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s a situation that’s come up… There’s a boy here who’s just been orphaned. We don’t have the beds to spare and you’re the first to pick up on our list of emergency placement homes. I know it’s been awhile, but--”

John distantly remembers a conversation with Father Reilly a few years ago on the subject, but it’s never come up before now. At 5am. On his day off.

“You need me to take him for a few days?” John asks, then remembers the rate at which the foster system got things done in Gotham and amends: “Weeks?”

“If you could…”

“Sure,” John says. “Yeah, I’ll… come and get him.”

John drags himself upright and shakes himself awake enough to get dressed and out the door. St. Swithin's is quieter now that it used to be. Less crowded (John remembers how many times they’d wound up breaking fire code to fit in just one extra kid for the night when all the emergency placements fell through), but Gotham’s never going to be in short supply of kids who need shelter, no matter how "cleaned up" it gets.

Father Reilly waits for him at the front door. “I can’t thank you enough, John.”

“Don’t worry about it. After what this place did for me? This is the least I can do.”

“I have paperwork here that you’ll have to fill out,” he hands John the clipboard. “The boy’s right inside. His name is Richard.”

John skims the fine print and signs the dotted lines as quickly as he can while he walks into the building.

The kid’s curled up on a bench in the front hall, dozing with his head leaned back against the wall. Dark hair, boyish face despite clearly being in his mid-teens. He’s wearing what looks like a bright blue leotard, but John decides against asking. Instead, he pats the kid’s shoulder. The boy jolts awake, blinking.

“Hey, don’t worry,” John says softly. “It’s okay, I’m just here to help. I’m John.”

“Grayson,” the boy answers. “John's… that’s my dad’s name.”

“Good name,” John says. “So Richard... I’m here to take you back to my place. You’re gonna stay with me for a little while, until we get you in somewhere permanent.” Hopefully. Hopefully the kid’ll get a real family and not diverted to the Wayne home. Not that it’s not a good place, but the kid deserves an actual family. They all do.

The kid looks past John at Father Reilly, then back to John. Slowly, he gets to his feet, grabbing his backpack from under the bench and slinging it over his shoulder. John puts his hand on the kid’s shoulder and guides him toward the front door, handing the paperwork to Father Reilly as he goes. They make their way out of the house and to the car. John opens the passenger door and the kid settles in. He starts the car, but notices the kid is shivering before he even pulls out of the parking spot. Without a word, John pulls off his jacket and hands it over. Grayson drapes it over himself like a blanket rather than bothering to slip his arms through the sleeves.

The car ride goes by in utter silence and John is glad he only lives a few blocks away. Grayson climbs out of the car and follows John up the stairs to his apartment.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” John says, “or I’d’ve cleaned the place up better. You can take my bed for now, though. Don’t worry about it. I’ve got the couch.”

John gestures to the slightly-open door down the hall. “Uh, kitchen’s here, bathroom to the left of my room. If you need anything, just wake me.”

Grayson nods once, then slips off down the hall into John’s room. John watches the door close, then sways slightly in place, exhausted. He sinks back down into the couch, burying his face in the cushion and passing out instantly.

Both of them sleep in well past noon. John is the first one up and sets to making breakfast or lunch or whatever it is at this point. He makes a quick run to the doughnut place down the street, then starts scrambled eggs, hoping the smell will wake Grayson. A few minutes later the boy comes stumbling out of the room, yawning, dark hair sticking up all over the place. He’s still got John’s jacket around him and he’s still wearing that bright leotard.

“Hey, Grayson,” John says. “Want breakfast?”

Grayson nods and sits on one of the stools in front of the counter, across from John.

“Sorry I didn’t get to properly introduce myself, I’m John Blake,” he says, passing a plate of eggs to Grayson.

“Most people call me Dick,” Grayson says quietly. He catches John’s look and quickly adds. “My first name is Richard.”

“What do you want me to call you?”

“Just… not Rich?”

“Okay not-Rich. Hey, if it makes you feel better, my name’s pretty embarrassing too.”

“Yeah? What is it?”

John grins, but doesn’t say anything. They eat in silence for awhile. John opens up the box of donuts and offers Dick a maple bar.

“Father Reilly didn’t tell me what happened and you don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to, but if you ever need anyone… I’m here. My parents died when I was a kid too. I get it.”

“They did?”

John nods. “It’s probably a little cliche, but it gets better after a while. It’s always part of you, but you’ll figure out to deal with it.”

“Thanks,” Dick says.

“If you want some proper clothes, you can see if you fit into any of mine and we can take you shopping a bit later.”

Dick looks down at his leotard and nods. He gets up and drops his plate in the sink before heading back to John’s room. John waits for him to come back, but he doesn’t. John lets it be, figuring he’ll need space and time to be alone for a while. At least it’s summer and he doesn’t have to worry about him missing too much school. Or figuring out what school Dick even goes to.

John hardly knows anything about this kid. As if on cue, his phone rings. It’s St. Swithin’s.

“Father Reilly?”

“John, how are you doing?”

“Good, yeah. The Grayson kid is settling in. Listen, I don’t… Do you have a file on him yet that I can look into? I don’t know anything beyond that his parents just died.”

“That’s what I was calling about. I’ll get it to you this afternoon, if you want to swing by and pick it up. There’s some more paperwork to fill out as well, if you don’t mind. And a social worker will have some more questions for Grayson.”

“Yeah, I’ll swing him by.”

 

John glances over at Dick as they drive. “So you have any friends in the area?”

“Not really. The guys at the circus were the closest thing.”

“What about at school?”

“I was homeschooled. Made it easier when we had to travel, so I didn’t fall behind in my grades or anything.”

“Oh. Well if you want to go see the people at the circus…”

Dick shakes his head quickly and John lets it go. They pull up to the boys’ home and get out. Dick is quickly carted off by a woman in a pantsuit with a laundry list of questions for him. John gives him what he hopes is an encouraging look. Father Reilly, meanwhile, hands John a small folder.

“There’s not much here to be recorded,” he says. “Good kid, good family. Traveled a bit. He didn’t deserve to lose his parents like he did.”

No one ever does. John glances through the file and nods. There’s practically nothing there, just the police report which must have been barely filed a few hours ago. Dick emerges a few minutes later, shoulders hunched and head ducked.

“You alright?” John asks.

“Can we go now?” Dick mumbles.

 

Two days later, John takes Dick to the Grayson’s funeral. The people with Haley’s Circus had helped with the arrangements. They’re a lively bunch, despite the setting. Dick even cracks a smile a few times and John thinks maybe he’ll be okay eventually.

John gives Dick space while he sits at his parents’ grave. It’s been almost twenty years since he lost his dad, but he still remembers it all too well. The anger, the inability to do anything… The last thing he'd have wanted was someone breathing down his neck while he grieved.

Dick finally gets up, brushing the dirt and grass of his suit. He’s red-eyed and sniffling, but doesn’t say anything and they walk back to the car in silence. Dick stares out the window for the drive home, but as they walk up to the apartment, he speaks up.

“Did you see them die?” Dick asks. “Your parents?”

John’s caught off guard. “My dad. He was shot when I was eight.”

“I’m sorry,” Dick says. They’re quiet for a few more moments as they arrive at their door and John starts to unlock it. Then suddenly Dick speaks up. “I saw him.”

John stops, key still in the lock. “Who?”

“I saw the man who did it. He looked right at me and then ran off. But I saw his face.”

“You know who killed your parents?” John pushes the door open and motions for Dick to follow. Dick hesitates, then scurries inside after him.

“I didn’t recognize him, but… If I saw him, I’d know,” Dick says. “Is he going to come after me? I could tell the police about him.”

“No one’s going to hurt you,” John says firmly, shutting the door behind him. “You’re gonna be fine.”

“But if he figures out where I am or where I live now… He could kill me or— What about you? I could be putting you in danger.”

John puts a hand on his shoulder. “I’ve been knocked around plenty of times, kid. I can handle myself, trust me. I used to be a cop.”

Dick’s eyes widen a bit. “A cop?”

“Yeah, GCPD for… years.”

“Were you a good cop?”

“Do you mean was I good at my job, or the other thing?”

“Both."

“I’m not a dirty cop. And I like to think I was pretty good at my job.”

“Why’d you quit?”

“That’s a very long, very complicated story,” John says. “Look, I’m not going to tell anyone on the force about this if you don’t want me to, but bringing this guy to justice might to do you some good.” After so many years, the idea of finding closure is almost a foreign concept to John, but Dick still has a chance.

“I want him to pay,” Dick says quietly. “For what he did to them.”

“Then when you’re ready, I’ll take you down to the station and you can tell them what you saw.”

John has to get back to work the next evening. He’s edgy about leaving Dick alone, but Dick reassures him he’ll be fine. John sighs, still debating back and forth in the door.

“I can always call in sick—”

“I’ll be fine,” Dick says. “It’d be kind of nice to have some time to myself.”

“No wild parties?”

“Aw, come on, you’re no fun.”

“Don’t get us kicked out and don’t need me to bail you out of jail. That’s all I ask.”

“I think I can manage that,” Dick grins.

“Good,” John ruffles his hair. “I’ll be back later.”

A few blocks down the road is the bar. John slips behind the counter easily enough, chats with a few of the usual patrons. It’s a quiet night and when he finally heads home, he feels pretty content.

Dick is sprawled across the couch in the front room, snoring faintly. John smiles and slips into his room in the back, shutting the door and sinking down onto the bed.

“Hey John?”

John wakes to Dick prodding him.

“Wha’s wrong?” John yawns and rubs his face.

“I’m ready,” Dick says. “To tell the cops about what I saw.”

John glances over at the clock. “Dick, it’s six in the morning.”

“I know. They’re open now.”

“I got back from work like two hours ago.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

John waves his hand away. “No, it’s okay.” He drags himself upright. “Let’s go.”

It takes a bit longer to get fully dressed and ready, but they’re out of the apartment within fifteen minutes and on their way to the station.

As they drive, John gent coaches him on what’s the most helpful to say and how his identity as a witness will be protected until there’s a potential trial, and even then he can still choose what to say.

He walks in with Dick. Montoya sees them first, coming up to them quickly.

“Thought you quit,” she says, folding her arms.

John puts a hand on Dick’s shoulder. “Not here for me. I’m fostering a witness to the Grayson murder case. This is their son, Dick. Dick, this is Renee Montoya.”

“Did he see the killer?”

Dick nods.

“Okay. Why don’t you sit down? Tell me what happened?”

John listens to Dick recount the story as best he can, answering Montoya’s questions carefully. He’s stoic about the whole thing, never showing any sign that he might be close to breaking point. Montoya’s not stupid though, and after a while she tells him he can stop if he needs before going through to speak with the sketch artist.

“No, I want to keep going,” Dick says.

Montoya takes him back and John waits quietly.

“He’s a nice kid,” Montoya says. “How’d he wind up with a deadbeat guardian like you, John?”

“St. Smithin’s was full for the night. I said I’d take him as long as he needed a place to stay."

"How's he holding up?"

"Alright," John shrugs. "He's doing better than the first few days."

“He’ll be a lot better once I put the sonovabitch who offed his parents behind bars.”

John grins at that. “I’m sure he’ll be glad to know you’re on the case.”

 

Dick’s settled in for the night when John spots the Batsignal going off in the sky. Satisfied that Dick will be alright, John slips into the apartment next door. He’s had it stocked with his gear for a few months now, in case he ever needed to change into his costume quickly and couldn’t make it to the cave. Now that Dick’s here, it’ll be an even easier way to sneak out without worrying about Dick noticing the car being missing.

Being back out on the street after a week off feels good. He kind of hates how much he understands why Bruce would theoretically spend a huge chunk of his fortune on the high-tech equipment that allows him to fly around the city at night. Just the jaunt to the police station from his apartment is a rush.

“You’re later than I expected,” Gordon says when John lands on the edge of the police department.

“I’ve had company.”

“Reese has been spotted. We weren’t able to get a clear shot of him, but it looks like he’s up to something.”

“Last I heard it was an elaborate, death-filled amusement park.”

“Nothing like that from what I understand,” Gordon says. “Though the amusement park bit does have a source.”

“He’s doing something shady at the amusement park near Crime Alley and you want me to check it out?”

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

“My pleasure.”

Genuinely. John takes off the second Gordon’s turned his back even halfway, grappling away from the rooftop and in the direction of Crime Alley. John’s never had warm fuzzy feelings toward the place. It’s dark and dirty and almost nothing redeemable. Except this is where a lot of things started. Bruce’s parents, his dad… Hell, even his first night out as Batman had been here. John glides over to the skeletal remains of the amusement park. There’s a rickety semblance of a rollercoaster around the thing. The front gates hang off the hinges as John walks past them. He’s not quite sure what he’s looking for, though knowing Reese it’ll be something flashy and expensive. Since his budding career as a supervillain began, the man always did have a weird taste for the unnecessarily gaudy.

He hears someone over to his right. Definitely some of the hired muscle, judging by how terrible they are at disguising their impending arrival.

John pounces. The goons appear to have been expecting though, and three of them are all ready for John’s move. He winds up knocked back on his ass, and by the time he gets up, there’s a fist ready to meet his face.

“How much is Reese paying you to stand around here and make sure his plan goes down like he wants?”  John asks, scrambling upright and taking in the trio. Baldy, Bucktooth, and the Tall One. The standard goon pack, really.

“Someone sure left you out of the loop, Bats,” Baldy says. “We don’t work for Reese. He’s old news.”

“Then who’s the new sheriff in town?”

“Playing their cards close to the chest. Even we don’t know who they are. Just that Reese is a dead man.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“Here for you,” Baldy catches the edge of John’s cape.

_Oh._

Baldy yanks on the cape, knocking John clean off his feet. John gets back upright, this time managing to duck the blow meant for his face. This isn’t going to be a pretty fight. He twists and ducks behind Bucktooth, kicking his back to knock him off balance.

Someone (the Tall One, probably) grabs him from behind in a chokehold. John struggles, kicking at the shins of his much-taller attacker. Either the guy is impervious to pain, or John’s not kicking as hard as he thought he was.

Bucktooth comes around front of John, now having donned brass knuckles. John braces himself for a punch. The armor will hold up and— John’s got blades in his gauntlets. That should help. He twists his wrist in just the right way, then hears the faint _whoosh_ sound as three blades fly out and hit the Tall One in the shoulder. _That_ he apparently feels, as he curses in pain and loses his grip enough for John to slip out and land a blow on Bucktooth before he can throw one with his brass knuckles. Baldy appears from behind and John figures the best option at this point is to just flee.

He punches Baldy in the face, then makes a run for it, out of the park. The three goons give chase. As soon as he clears the park he grapples up onto the nearest building, gliding away and out of reach.

He gets into the Batcave, exhausted, and slumps down, out of breath and hurting. He leans up against the computer banks, closing his eyes. He’ll just rest a moment.

 

The floor is cold. And uncomfortable. His back kind of hurts too. John cracks open his eyes and realized that he never left the cave. Dammit. He glances at his phone and notes the time as well as the several (six) calls from Dick. John calls back, listens to the phone buzz as he waits for Dick to pick up. John gets more anxious with each ring, and then finally:

“John?”

“Hey, Dick, I’m sorry I didn’t get home last night. I was—”

“Are you okay?” There’s a panicked edge to his voice.

“Yeah, yeah. I was out with some old work buddies, I… I shouldn’t have left you like that, I’m sorry.”

“Are you coming back now?”

“Yeah. I’m headed your way.”

John looks at himself in the reflection on the bus window and notes the bruise on his cheekbone and the split lip. “Dammit.” He mutters. He gets off at the station near his house, mentally coming up with the best lie he can think of to explain. Bar fight sounds irresponsible, but mugging would scare Dick. Falling over is a fun option, but he doubts Dick will buy it. So what’s he left with then?

John can imagine the conversation with Bruce now.

_Sorry, Bruce, yeah, I had to quit being Batman._

_Why? Oh, I adopted this kid and I couldn’t think of a good enough lie to explain coming home with scrapes and bruises all over every morning._

Breaking up a bar fight. He does work in a bar. Yeah, that sounds good.

John opens the door and Dick’s reaction is as expected, but he buys the bar fight story easily enough. He asks a couple questions and John waves it off as nothing serious.

Dick settles in as the days pass. He’s still grieving, but the police are looking for his parents’ killer still. The Batman escapades are getting easier to explain, now that John realizes he’s going to need an excuse. He’s getting better at them, too. The more times goes on, he’s coming up with some truly amazing excuses.

“Wait, where are you going?”

“… Grocery run.”

“It’s like ten at night.”

“There are grocery stores open at ten,” John says, like Dick’s being the ridiculous one.

“There are grocery stores open at reasonable hours of the day too. Look, if you have a girlfriend or something you can tell me,” Dick says. “Or a boyfriend. Whatever it is.”

“It’s just a grocery run.”

“Okay,” Dick shrugs, relenting at last. “Bring back some chocolate milk though?”

“I’ll put it on the list,” John nods, making a bee-line for the door now.

His excuses really suck. Not to mention, he’s halfway back to the apartment after breaking up a drug deal before he remembers the chocolate milk. John grouches to himself and stops in at the convenience store a few blocks away from his apartment. He hopes he doesn’t wind up getting blood on the floor because honestly being identified for something stupid like getting milk is the stupidest thing he can imagine.

The clerk, a woman whose name John is pretty sure is named Mable, looks up at him when he enters, eyes widening. John walks to the back of the building, gets the half-gallon of milk and returns to the front.

“On the house,” Mable says when John shows up. “This store used to get robbed every other Thursday before you showed up.”

John sets a five on the counter anyway, offers a half-smile, and then heads out the door.

All without bleeding out on the floor. Amazing. John barely makes it to the second apartment. He patches himself up hastily, leaving his suit strewn around the room and then moves quickly next door.  He trips up over the rug as he’s coming in and lets out a hiss. “ _Dammit._ ”

He stumbles back down the hall and pokes his head into Dick’s room. The kid is completely passed out, sleeping like the dead as far as he can tell. John feels himself relax slightly just knowing Dick is safe and sleeping and completely oblivious for now. John moves into his room and flops down on the bed, asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.

The next morning, Dick pours himself a bowl of cereal with chocolate milk. John raises an eyebrow.

“What? I like chocolate.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were looking at me at me weird though.”

The phone rings, getting John off the hook for his cereal-bashing for now.

“Blake residence,” John says.

“John? It’s Gordon.”

“Why are you calling me here?”

“We found the Graysons’ murderer,” he says. “We’d like Richard to identify him.”

Dick looks up from his cereal at John’s expression, a questioning look on his face. John waves him off, turning away.

“You sure?”

“Matches the description. The kind of low-life who’d do something like that.”

“I’ll bring him in,” John says. He hangs up, then slowly turns back to Dick. “That was Gordon. He said he thinks they’ve found the man who killed your parents. They want you to identify him.”

“Okay,” Dick says.

“You ready for this?”

“I think so.”

The car drive over passes in dead silence. Dick keeps flipping through radio stations, refusing to stay on any one of them for more than thirty seconds. Normally, John would tell him off, but he knows the hell the kid must be going through.

They’re ushered into the station, a few of the officers giving Dick smiles as he goes back.

“That’s him,” Dick says, pointing the guy out of the line-up. “That was him.”

Gordon puts his hand on Dick’s shoulder. “We got him.”

They’re sitting on the couch, watching some action movie Dick picked out and eating ice cream. It’s a weird situation, not quite a celebration, but significant enough that it warrants ice cream and bad movies.

“Is it really over?” Dick asks absently, about thirty minutes into the movie. “With my parents, since they got him, does that mean everything’s over?”

“Yeah,” John says.

“But they’re still dead. And I’m still here. What do I _do_ now?”

“Make them proud.”

Dick turns back to the television, his expression settling. As the movie goes on, John watches Dick drift off until he completely falls asleep before it’s even finished. God, the kid looks so peaceful. Happy, compared to what he’s been like. It’s a starting place, a good new beginning.

John gets up and walks out onto the porch, shutting the door behind him and taking out his phone.

“Hello?”

“Father, it’s John. Listen, I was calling about the Grayson kid?”

“I was just thinking about you. There are a couple potential placement families that are looking at adopting an older boy. We were considering on placing Richard with one of them soon, as soon as paperwork can be filled out.”

“Actually, I was thinking he could stay here. Permanently?”

“You’d adopt him?”

“Yeah,” John says. “He’s a good kid. And I think I can give him a good home here.”

“There’s a lot of paperwork involved.”

“I was a cop, remember? I know how to do my paperwork.”

After a brief rundown of the legalistic aspects of adopting Dick, John hangs up and takes a moment just to absorb all the information. He’s honestly still surprised he made the phone call in the first place.

He turns back to go inside and finds Dick standing there staring at him.

“Hey… How much of that conversation did you overhear?”

“You really want me to _stay_ here?”

“Yeah… Do you want to stay here?”

Dick nods, once. “As long as I don’t have to call you dad or anything.”

“Not quite old enough to be your dad,” John says. “Thank god.”

There’s a small smile on Dick’s face now. “I’d like to stay here.”

 

* * *

 

[ _@planetlvr38]: Just me or does it seem like #NuBats is happier? Swear I heard him humming when he stopped my mugging._

 

* * *

 

 

_[@greenzorel]: #NuBats stopped into my dad’s convenience store and SMILED at him. hey #OldBats ur replacement is too happy_

 

* * *

 

“John, I need your help with something.”

“Of course, Commissioner, what is it?”

“My daughter is in town. I got called in on a case and I’d rather not have her wander Gotham alone.”

( _“Dad, I’m seventeen, I can handle_ — _”)_

“If you wouldn’t mind, I thought she could spend the day with you.”

“Yeah, that’s no problem. Bring her over.”

“I’m outside now.”

“Wh-- Right now?”

Dick glances up at him questioningly as John opens the door. Commissioner Gordon appears, a red-haired teenage girl alongside him. She steps inside John’s apartment reluctantly.

“This is Barbara,” Gordon says. “Thank you, John.”

“No problem,” John says.

Gordon kisses the top of Barbara’s head, nods to Dick, then hurries back out the door. Barbara folds her arms and looks between John and Dick, looking generally displeased.

“Barbara, this is my foster son, Dick.”

Dick holds out his hand. Barbara sighs and shakes it, offering him an attempted smile.

“So… Why did my dad dump me on you guys? I mean, I know he thinks I’m going to get murdered on the streets if I leave the house, but how does he know you?”

“I used to be on the force with your dad, before I quit. Gotham’s been getting its share of criminal masterminds and with you being his daughter… He just wants you safe.”

“Always use the buddy system,” Dick says. “Rule of Gotham number one.”

Barbara seems to relax a bit, nodding. “Thanks. I guess I just didn’t realize how bad it’s gotten.”

Where does one begin explaining even half of Gotham’s situation? “It’s not all bad.”

Barbara nods. “Mom moved us out when I was about nine, so I remember a bit from before then, but not a lot. Probably some repressed memories in there.”

“We can show you around,” Dick says. “I mean, if you want. Gotham’s not all bad. Some of it’s pretty great.”

“I’d like that,” Barbara says.

“I didn’t say I was going to chauffeur anyone—”

Dick shoots a pleading look at John and John grudgingly quiets. _Fine_. He’s roped into it for budding teenage crushes. Dick is a far too eager tour guide, pointing out the buildings and practically doing cartwheels.

Gordon shows up just before dinner to pick Barbara up. Dick spends a bit too long in shaking her hand and saying goodbye. John just snorts, which he then turns into an unconvincing cough.

“It was nice to meet you,” Barbara says, throwing a small wave over her shoulder before darting down the stairs into her father’s car.

Dick walks back up to the apartment in a bit of a daze, his expression dreamy. “Barbara Gordon… She’s really great.”

John gives it a week before the puppy love wears off.

* * *

John takes a flying leap out of an open window and drops two stories before he hits the ground. His cape softens the fall, but it still takes him longer than he’d like to get up again.

“Come on,” John growls to himself. He staggers along, mentally going through his injuries. Broken wrist, stab wound in left shoulder, side grazed (or it actually went through and John’s in too much pain elsewhere to tell the difference) by a bullet, probable cracked ribs, twisted ankle.

It’ll be a miracle if he makes it another block, let alone escapes the gang of thugs current chasing him down. Reeses’ empire is on the rocks and he’s been getting more desperate as time has gone on. And now, it seems, he’s not above trying to outright murder Batman. Strategically, John gets it. It’d certainly send a message to the rival gang growing. That doesn’t actually make John feel much better about being shot at though.

John hears gunfire behind him and groans, then picks up the pace as best he can. The batcave is close, but there’s no way he can contact anyone from it who could actually come. The apartment, he could get Dick to get help and make up some lie or…

Just get Dick in general, given the circumstances and the fact that at this rate the kids’ gonna find out sooner or later.

_No, don’t bring him into this._

John ducks into a convenience store on the next street over, slipping off to the side and crouching underneath the window. He hears movement going past outside and he lets himself breathe and process where he’s landed. It’s brightly lit inside, shoulder-height shelves lining the middle of the store with junk food and the odd essential house item.

“They’re coming in,” a voice says. John looks up and sees the man behind the counter looking at him in concern. “You better hide behind the counter.”

John nods, crawling across the floor to slip around behind the counter. The door opens moments later.

“You seen anyone run through here?”

“No,” the man’s voice remains steady as he shakes his head. “I haven’t and I don’t know what you’re up to, but I’m not afraid to call the police.”

“Go ahead and call ‘em. But you’d be dead before they arrive.”

“Just take what you want and get out,” the clerk says sharply.

“Oh we will. What’s the rush?”

John closes his eyes. From the footsteps there are probably two or three in the building. The clerk’s got a shotgun under his counter that’s within reach, so that would take care of one. Leaving two for a fistfight with John, who feels like his guts are going to spill out if he moves his hand away from his stomach. _Fuck_.

The clerk doesn’t glance down at John or show any sign that he even knows he’s there, which John is grateful for but also kind of hating because there’s no chance of communicating any sort of plan with him.

Just wait it out, Blake. Just wait it out, then get back home. John sort of zones out, despite trying to listen to the goons talk amongst themselves. They finally exit the store after rumbling about. John closes his eyes for a moment, then pushes himself upright. The clerk looks concerned, holding his hands out to steady John. John shakes him off, trying to look reassuring.

“Are you sure you can—?”

“I’ll be fine,” John grunts.


	2. Dick

_COLEMAN REESE EXPOSED. The business exec who’d stepped in as Gotham’s resident self-made millionaire was exposed as being the head of the Riddler criminal empire. Reese has gone on the run and it remains to be seen whether or not he will face justice for his crimes. Says Police Commissioner...  (more on page 5 ‘Mr. Reese’)_

* * *

Dick walks Barbara home after their self-defense class in the evening, like he does just about every time. He’s been dying to ask her out for a couple weeks now, but it’s sort of a daunting thing with Babs being slightly older and slightly scarier and having an actual cop dad (as opposed to Dick’s retired cop guardian). He walks her up to the porch, standing on the step below her and shifting awkwardly as he tries to work out his wording in his head. _Just do it, Grayson._

“So Babs,” Dick hedges. “Um, I was thinking—”

“I’m free next Thursday night after class. Dad’s working a longer shift, so he won’t notice I’m not around. We can go the ice cream shop up the road.”

“What?”

She leans and kisses his cheek. “My Dad’ll kill me if I’m out here another minute and I’m sure me actually kissing a boy on his front porch is his worst nightmare. I’ll see you Thursday.”

She darts inside without another word. Dick stares after her, feeling pleasantly warm where she’d kissed his cheek. He walks back to the apartment, a spring in his step.

“John?” he calls. “I’m home.”

There’s silence, which isn’t that unusual given John tends to be out working at the bar until the early morning, but Dick feels like something’s off. Like someone’s been through the place and he’s not entirely alone.

“John?” he calls again.

There’s a sound of something shattering from John’s room and Dick’s heart jolts in his chest. He fishes around in his pocket for the pocket knife John gave him, then edges down the hallway toward John’s room. _Don’t let them have a gun, don’t let them have a gun._

He hears something muffled (a pained, definitely human sound) from behind the door and his panic sets in even more.

Dick grabs the door handle, then twists and pushes it open, throwing all his weight into . The door swings open with surprising ease and Dick launches himself into the room, fists raised and ready for a fight.

Literal, actual Batman curls on the floor in front of him. Dick gapes, lowering his fists. Batman raises a hand, groaning. “Stay where you are.”

“Shouldn’t—I mean I guess you don’t go to a hospital but—” Dick stops, still gaping.

Batman. In John’s room.

Opening up John’s drawers, and clearly finding whatever he’s looking for in the first one he hopes (almost like he knows exactly what he’s looking for).

“Wh— How— What?” Dick is a sputtering, confused mess. “Happened?”

Batman glances over at him, shaking his head.

“Were you followed here?” Dick finally manages to get a complete sentence out, to his surprise.

“We’ll be fine. No one saw me.”

“Okay,” Dick says, trying to clear his head. He glances back at the door, wishing John would appear. “Why are you _here_?”

“Help me up,” he says. Dick moves toward him hesitantly, offering him a hand up. Batman takes it, pulling himself up. He staggers a bit, groaning. Dick looks down and sees blood dripping from his stomach and onto the floor.

“Should I call an ambulance?”

“No, but… dammit,” Batman growls. He reaches up for his cowl and pulls it off with somewhat difficulty. The thing finally comes off and he lets it clatter to the floor. There are dark circles of paint around his eyes, but Dick knows him immediately.

“John.” Is the goddamn Batman.

“Get the medical kit out from under the sink in my bathroom. The big one. I’m going to need your help, can you do that?”

“You’re—Okay. Okay, yeah, I can do this.”

Dick backs out of the room, still staring at John. His shoulder connects with the doorframe and he stumbles a bit, then turns and scurries off down the hall.

_John is Batman._

He ducks under the bathroom sink, spying the large case quickly and dragging it out. It’s heavier than he anticipated, but not unmanageable. He carries it back down the hall to John.

John’s gotten most of the armor off, which is good for Dick being able to patch him up, but less good because Dick’s stomach is churning at the wounds that are much more visible now.

“I’m okay,” John says, voice steady. “Bring it over here.”

Dick nods and drags the kit over. John pulls his shirt up and over his head, hissing. Dick can see the blood even clearer now, bright and smeared against most of John’s abdomen. John keeps both hands pressed against his middle.

“Can you get out the brown bottle in there?” John asks. Dick digs around for a minute and then pulls the bottle out of the kit and hands it over. John grabs it, gritting his teeth as he pulls his other hand away from the wound. The blood gushes out with the lack of pressure and John quickly pours half the contents of the bottle over the wound. He hisses through his teeth, face screwed up in pain.

“Bandage,” John bites out. Dick fishes into the kit again, coming up with the largest bandage he can get.

“You probably have some questions for me about right now,” John says as he takes the bandage from Dick.

“You could say that.”

John looks up at him, shrugging slightly, expression inviting Dick to go ahead and ask. He places the bandage over the wound, then starts taping it down.

“How long have you been Batman? I mean … A lot of people think you’re the second one and the first one died.”

“I’m the second one,” John says. He looks down at his bloodstained hands and cringes slightly, going into the kit and grabbing a cloth to wipe his hands off with. “The first one… I don’t think I can tell you much, but I knew him. He left this to me when he left Gotham about two years ago.”

“Why you?” Dick asks.

“He trusted me, I think. Batman was always supposed to be a symbol. It was never just about him, it was supposed to be about Gotham needing a hero, and anyone could be that hero.” John finishes wiping off his hands. “Okay, I’m gonna need you to thread the needle and sew up my arm.”

“I don’t know that I can—”

“You can. I trust you.”

John hands him the supplies out of the kit.  Dick’s hands shake uncontrollably as he tries to thread the needle and he only succeeds in fraying the end of the thread. His mind works too fast trying to put things together and he can’t concentrate on anything, much less pull himself together to thread the damn needle. He sucks on the tip of the thread and tries again, but doesn’t make it anywhere near the eye.

“Take a breath.” _Breath._ “Try again.”

Dick breathes in deep, lets it out, and tries one more time. It slips in and John puts a hand on his shoulder.

“You can do this.”

Dick follows his instructions as best he can and his hands stop shaking the more John talks to him.

“You’re doing great,” John’s voice is warm, reassuring. Dick latches onto it, trying to focus on that more than his own panic pounding in his ears.

The gash is long, but seven stitches later, John tells him he’s finished. Dick bandages up a couple smaller wounds and altogether it looks like John took on an entire gang himself (and for all Dick knows, that’s exactly what he did).

“Thank you,” John says. “You did great. I’m gonna sleep now, but in the morning, I promise I’ll answer all your questions.”

Dick nods. he backs out of the room and heads to bed himself, but finds that he spends most of the time tossing and turning, trying to make sense of everything.

Morning arrives and Dick’s only caught a few hours of sleep. He rolls out of bed, stumbles down the small hallway, and sits quietly at the kitchen table, waiting. John finally wakes up at nine, moving slowly, but he manages to smile at Dick anyway.

“How long have you been Batman?” Dick asks.

“Morning to you too,” John says. “Going on three years. Want some orange juice?”

Dick nods. John makes breakfast and Dick waits, questions boiling over inside his head until he finally can’t stop himself from asking one. “Did you know the other guy at all? I mean, did you know who he was besides the Batman?”

John slides him his glass of orange juice. “Figured it out when I was a kid. I met him once while he was in his civilian identity. And then I met him as Batman right before Bane’s takeover.”

“And then after?”

“He died and left it all to me.”

It’s the end of the conversation, by John’s tone. No more questions about that Batman’s history, though Dick has a million and really wants to know the exact details of who the old Batman was and what he was like.

“I won’t hide things about what I’m doing from you, but besides you, Jim Gordon is the only other person who knows. You can’t tell anyone else about this.”

“You mean not Barbara.”

“Can  you do that?”

Dick sighs, but nods, mentally preparing to spend the next… forever lying to his best friend.

* * *

Things are strange. John talks to him frankly, doesn’t hide that he’s leaving to go vigilante-ing throughout the city now and almost never remembers to bring back milk. He’s upfront about everything that goes on and Dick can’t figure out if he’s trying to normalize things for Dick or if he genuinely doesn’t know how to act anymore without his secret. But it’s nice, in a way, to know the truth.

“Reese is getting more desperate,” John says over breakfast, while he’s browsing the morning paper. “Ever since he went into hiding, it’s been hard to keep tabs on him, but when he does make a move, it’s sloppy. Predictable.”

Dick can’t think of a thing to say for the life of him, so he just nods.

“It’s good because it means he’s vulnerable,and we’re getting lucky being able to take them down. Last week he threw too many of his men into a bank robbery in broad daylight and the cops were able to arrest almost all of them just because they were all out in the open.”

“A bank robbery?” Dick asks. “Most of his schtick is blackmail via crazy riddle threats, right? I’ve seen him in the papers, he hasn’t been overly violent before now.”

“He’s worried about protecting himself, though. He’s not too into keeping up with appearances anymore, he just wants to keep his power.”

So power-desperate Reese is on the loose and John’s running out to fight him every time he isn’t working at the seedy bar the next street over. No reason to be freaked out or anything.

“I’ve got to go,” Dick says. “Babs and I have a… date.”

John looks up at him. “You asked her out?”

Dick shrugs. “Yeah, kinda. I think? It’s hard to tell with her sometimes.”

“You remember what you--?”

“I remember. I’m not going to tell her.”

Babs clearly knows something up, regardless of Dick’s attempts to hide it. All of John’s bluntness about the subject has been driving him insane and he’d give anything to just talk to her about it honestly, but he can’t betray John.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Barbara asks, nudging his shin with her foot from across the table.

Dick shakes out of his thoughts. “John’s just… being really weird.”

“Weird how?”

 _Vagueness. Let’s try for vagueness, Grayson_. “We had this weird pseudo father/son bonding moment and he’s overcompensating now or something. I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m going crazy.”

“Maybe he’s just having a hard time? My dad gets weird sometimes when things are going on. Might be a cop-slash-former cop thing.”

“Yeah...” _Or an ‘I know what Batman is up to and no one else does’ thing._ “Sorry. It’s not a big deal. Just weird.”

Barbara shrugs. “I don’t mind.”

Beyond that, the rest of the date goes surprisingly normal. He and Barbara just talk like they usually do. About the weather, about school, about their differences in Gotham football teams (being from two different schools, they get decently competitive about the whole thing).

Dick gets back from his sort-of date Barbara and finds John suiting up in the middle of the apartment, just finishing puting on his cape.

“Isn’t it a little earlier for that?” Dick asks, closing the door quickly behind him.

“It’s midnight somewhere,” John says. “There’s a body the police dug up; Gordon asked me to come in and see if I can help track down the killer. It’s super-crime related from what they can tell.”

“Stay safe,” Dick says.

John turns to go, then pauses at the door and turns back again. “Do you want to help me? I might need a home base tonight. Ask you to look things up as we’re moving. Might make things a little easier and Gordon won’t have to make up excuses about who he’s talking to.”

“Do I get a codename?” Dick asks, because that’s the only way in hell he’s going to do this.

“No.”

“Robin,” Dick says.

“Are you stealing my name?”

"Maybe."

"When did I ever tell you that was my name?"

"You didn't, I saw it on your driver's license. But, it's not like anyone's going to suspect ex-cop, current bartender is Batman based on Batman's kid partner's name being the same as his, right?"

"... Right," John rolls his eyes. “I’ll be in touch. Be ready.”

“Yessir,” Dick salutes, pulling his laptop into his lap from the side table. “Robin is online.”

**Author's Note:**

> My failed attempt at a big bang is finally getting finished up and posted on Ao3.  
> This story is like 3/4 of the way finished, I just need to clean it up a bit and fill in a few chapters. I just figure the only way I'll ever actually finish editing and writing is if I start posting it somewhere.
> 
> I'll be adding more characters/tags as they become relevent, but yeah.


End file.
